Turning
I was busy this weekend so I didn’t have much time to devote to poems 22, 23, and 24. I felt a bit guilty about that, because all three had amazing prompts! The prompt for this one was to write a poem with repetition.
Turning while the flames licked
at it, and feeling the burn
as the old man kicked
and knocked and parried his turn
White flames they were,
turning in their own reality
The donkeys laugh and the horses spur
The black berry on the ash tree
She broke down crying at the turning
The Earth in the cradle of the flame,
turning.